


we'll take a cup of kindness yet

by thecrackshiplollipop



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5609803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecrackshiplollipop/pseuds/thecrackshiplollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A family tradition, a fake girlfriend, and Santana and Rachel. What could go wrong?</p><p>(Hint: Feels are caught)</p><p>I wrote this ages ago, and it was a holiday fic at that time, but then I worked on it for a creative writing assignment and it turned into this. Figured I might as well share it, after so much work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll take a cup of kindness yet

Rachel’s family has a lot of traditions associated with the holiday season.

One of her dads is Jewish, so they spend the days leading up to Chanukah baking and cooking and preparing for the first night celebrations. Usually everyone in her daddy’s extended family trickles through over the eight days, and plenty of people from synagogue, so they always go overboard with treats. But once Chanukah is over, they move onto Christmas, since her other dad is all about the partridge in a pear tree, and there are about forty holiday parties to attend. And then there’s New Year’s Eve, which always involves a big party at their house, lots of people and lots of food, and lots of champagne that Rachel's only allowed to have on glass of. Even though it's just a party, it's the biggest affair of the entire season for the Berrys and most of their family friends.

She’s been home from school for two weeks and they’ve finally given away everything holiday-themed: cookies shaped like menorahs and dreidels and trees, her nana’s sufganiyot and miniature versions of her mimi’s sweet potato pie, and more latkes than their entire extended family could ever eat. But her dads don’t have an “off” button and it seems like no sooner than Christmas has been swept away, they’re whipping up a frenzy for the New Year’s Eve party. Rachel has managed to avoid most of the insanity, but there are only so many ways she can duck out of the house for a few hours before they call her bluff.

That morning, the day before New Year’s Eve, they cornered her before she had her coffee and, after a lot of begging, she agreed to help bake after lunch. She manages to sneak out into the foyer a few times in order to find lip balm, or get her phone’s charging cable, mostly so she can exchange a frenzy of messages with her friends about crazy parents. It’s getting close to dinner time and her dads are ordering Chinese food when she ducks into the foyer under the pretence of getting a hair elastic in her purse. Wham!’s “Last Christmas” comes up on her dad’s holiday mix and one of them starts singing along, hilariously off-key.

She’s humming along to the music in the kitchen when her phone vibrates in her pocket. She pulls it out and hits answer without looking at the caller ID, figuring it’s Kurt calling to complain about his long train ride home. “Mmhm?” She says, still humming as she reaches for her purse and starts rifling through it.

"Really? That’s how you’re gonna answer the phone for me?"

"Santana?" Rachel pulls her phone away and, sure enough, there’s the picture of Santana from St. Patrick’s Day, tipsy and laughing and covered in green confetti. Butterflies batter Rachel’s insides, an unfortunate automatic response at the simple pleasure of knowing Santana has called her. "Oh hi! I’m sorry! How are you?"

"Bored as fuck." There’s the click of a lock, some shuffling, and the sound of a screen door closing. "Shit. It’s so cold here."

"Mmhm. It wasn’t so bad in New York."

"Well yeah, it wasn’t snowing there when we left." Rachel imagines Santana rolling her eyes and smiles softly as she puts down her purse. She can’t even remember what she was looking for any more.

"And it’s still not snowing there, either.” Rachel says, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “So… what’s up? Why the call?"

"What, I can’t call my friend for a chat?"

“That’s something you literally never do with me,” Rachel says, trying not to sound like the fact hurts her a little. Because it does. Hurt. (More than a little.)

"Fair point.” Santana sighs. “Do you wanna come over tomorrow for family game night?"

"Family game night?" Rachel echoes with a frown.

"Yes."

"With... you?"

"Uh-huh…"

"And _your_ family?"

"Oh my god, Rachel.” Santana sounds positively exasperated. “Yes. I’m asking if you want to come over to my house tomorrow night to eat dinner and play stupid board games with me and my family. My mom insists we keep up this ridiculous tradition despite the fact that I’m in my twenties and my youngest sibling is now a teenager."

"You’re only twenty." Rachel corrects.

"That’s still in my _twenties_." Santana makes a chattery noise like ‘brr’ only with more anger. "So what do you say?"

"Why me though?"

"The parents want to meet my… girlfriend."

Rachel’s stomach lurches and she swallows, hard. "But...we’re not dating." _Sex isn’t dating_ , Brittany had reminded her the last time she’d called, sad and drunk and sobbing because Santana could be so _mean_ sometimes.

"No, but I can’t imagine my parents would like the idea of me being so sexually liberated so I… lied." Rachel snorts and Santana scoffs. "Look it’s not far from the truth. We’ve been fucking since the summer after senior year and and we’ve been living together since sophomore year of college. It’s close enough."

"But we’re not exclusive.” Rachel bites her lip. It always hurts to say it outloud, but it’s _true_ and Rachel just can’t ignore that fact.

"And we won’t talk about that." Santana’s voice is sharp and there’s a heavy pause where Rachel can almost hear Santana grinding her teeth. "C’mon Rachel, please? She won’t leave it alone. If I don’t bring someone she’s gonna set me up with her co-worker’s daughter and—”

"Oh,” Rachel sighs, shaking her head. “Okay. Okay. Do I need to bring something? Food? Alcohol? A gift?" Rachel wanders out of the foyer and into the living room, all thoughts of baking and singing and dads drifting out of her head. She tries to imagine Santana’s family. If they’re anything like Santana, she figures they’ll be cactus-y and beautiful and inexplicably endearing.

"No booze. My parents would die if they knew I was drinking under-aged."

"Really? Even after senior year?" She falls back over the arm of the sofa, her legs hanging over the edge so her socked feet dangle in the air.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rachel, I was never hungover, I just had a lot of migraines."

"Right,” Rachel laughs.

"Just bring something for your vegan ass so my parents don’t feel like they need to move heaven and earth just to feed you."

"I’m vegetarian now, Santana."

"What _ever_. Just bring your ass, then. They’ll figure it out.”

“Tell me more about your mom,” Rachel says, swinging her feet absent mindedly. “And your whole family, actually. So I can be ready.”

“Oh boy,” Santana breathes out, but doesn’t say anything else.

“Santana… come on. Wouldn’t your _girlfriend_ know a little more about your family?”

“Fine,” Santana clicks her tongue for a moment before taking a deep breath. “So, my mom’s Colombian...”

* * *

Rachel’s not nervous or anything, it’s not like she spends an hour wavering between comfy-casual and dressy outfits, or agonising over what sort of makeup is appropriate to wear around her not-girlfriend’s family. At the last minute she goes for casual, jeans and a purple sweater, and the new faux-leather boots she got for Chanukah.

Santana told her to arrive by six, so she shows up at 5:45, of course. She considers looping the block a few times, but gets nervous about the security patrol in Santana’s gated community and decides that looking eager is better than looking like a stalker.

Santana gets to the door before anyone else, dressed in jeans and a red sweater, and Rachel’s relieved that she made the right call on her wardrobe. Rachel’s barely inside the foyer when a woman who looks a lot like Santana, the same dark hair and light brown skin, comes bustling from the back of the house.

She gives Santana an expectant look, hands on her hips, and even though Santana doesn’t actually sigh, Rachel can see it in her body language. "Mama, this is Rachel Berry," is what she says, lightly slipping her arm around Rachel’s waist. Rachel tries not to give a start at the touch, smooths over the shock with a smile.

"Good evening Mrs. Lopez. I want to th—”

"This is your girlfriend?" Santana’s mom isn’t that much taller than Rachel is. Maybe an inch, max. But when she steps up to look Rachel over, it manages to be more intimidating than anything Santana could ever threaten her with.

" _Ay, dios_ . Yes, mama, Rachel is my girlfriend." Rachel feels a surge of pleasure at the sound and tries to tamp it back immediately, reminding herself that it’s _fake_ , just for _show_ , and that as soon as she leaves they’ll go back to just being Santana and Rachel.

"And you live together?" Mrs. Lopez furrows her brows and purses her lips. She has a Colombian accent that’s so lovely it makes Rachel feel bad for taking French in high school instead of Spanish.

"Yes. But we were friends in high school first," Rachel says, in a way she hopes is reassuring. Santana’s hand tightens on her waist and she feels her cheeks flushing with heat.

"Mari, leave the poor girl alone." A man she can only assume is Santana’s father emerges from the kitchen wiping his hands on a bright blue towel. "Hello, I’m Antonio, Santana’s father." He is so much taller than everyone else in the foyer that Rachel feels like she has to crane her neck just to look at his face as she shakes his hand. He has a strong jaw, a soap opera star smile, and eyes that are a warm brown, just like Santana’s.

Mrs. Lopez steps back and waves her hands in the air. “She knows I mean well.”

"Of course, _cielito_." He kisses the top of Mrs. Lopez’s head and smiles at Rachel. "Sorry about the sideshow. Why don’t you follow Santana into the den and we’ll finish up in the kitchen. You’re vegetarian, right?"

"I am!" Rachel bounces a little on her heels.

"We’re making fajitas, my mother’s recipe. Maribel cooked up some portobello separately. Is that okay? Is that, uh, kosher?"

"I think so? But don’t worry, as long as there’s no meat, I’m fine."

Mr. Lopez is all smiles as he disappears back into the kitchen, leading Mrs. Lopez with a hand on her back.

"DON’T FORGET THE SHOES, _MIJA_." Mrs. Lopez shouts a split-second later, from the kitchen, Rachel assumes.

"I KNOW." Santana shouts back and spins around to face Rachel. "No shoes past the entry." She points down at Rachel’s boots and motions to the pile under the coat rack.

* * *

The Lopez den is a lot like the one at Rachel’s house: furnished with comfortable looking couches, a large television above a fireplace conveniently located between big built-in shelving units, and a large round coffee table. There are six large pillows around the coffee table and a crackling fire burning in the fireplace. It’s the picture of the perfect suburban house and Rachel’s heart gives a little squeeze in her chest at the unbothered comfort

Santana’s little sister is sitting on the La-Z-Boy, fully reclined, playing a 3DS. Santana’s brother is digging through a drawer in the built-in with a look of intense concentration.

"Ana! Junior! There’s a guest." Santana stands next to Rachel and does a Vanna White-style flourish as if to present her to the two uninterested teens.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Her brother’s head pops out of the drawer. He has on oversized black-rimmed glasses and there’s a Humble Bumble bandaid on his forehead. He openly appraises Rachel and grins. " _Hola_."

"Shut up. And yes. She’s my girlfriend." Rachel is getting dangerously close to enjoying the sound of Santana calling her her girlfriend. _It’s all an act_ , she tells herself. _It’ll be over before tomorrow_.

"Whatever. Nice to meet you." Junior stands up, dusts off the knees of his green jeans, and walks over to them with his hand out. "Antonio Luis Enrique Lopez Junior."

"Call him Junior," Santana mumbles as Rachel shakes his hand.

"Charmed." She smiles brightly and Junior grins at her before heading back to drawer he was rifling around in.

"Dude, _Ana_. Say hi," Santana frowns at the girl on the arm chair.

The girl sighs dramatically and puts her DS down, looking Rachel over before shrugging out an unenthused, “hey.”

"Oh. Hi. Ana? It’s nice to meet you."

"Uh huh." She picks her DS back up and goes back to ignoring them.

"Her name is Anamaria, but she goes by Ana because it’s quote-unquote _cooler_ , and she’s a jerk." Santana glares at her sister and crosses the to sit on the couch. "Come, sit. It’ll take them another thirty to finish dinner.” Rachel follows Santana to the couch and plops down next to her. “We’ll eat in the dining room and argue about what movie to watch and then what game to play."

"Do you have any favourite Christmas movies?" Junior is talking into the drawer, but Rachel assumes the question is directed at her.

“Christmas movie?” She tilts her head at Santana and raises her brows.

“Oh...normally we do this _before_ Christmas but—”

“ _This year_ we forgot.” Junior drawls.

“We didn’t forget,” Santana snaps, “Tito and Tita were visiting from Colombia—”

"Well—” Rachel says quickly, “ _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ used to be my favourite Christmas movie. My dads used to tell me I was—”

"Dads?" That catches Ana’s attention; she drops her DS to her chest and looks at Rachel expectantly.

"Yes. I have two fathers. They’re… gay."

"Like her and Santana." Junior says as if it were to end with a ‘duh’.

“Actually I’m—” Rachel starts, but Santana just elbows her to shut her up.

"I KNOW WHAT GAY IS, JUNIOR." Ana shoots up out of the recliner and is across the room in the blink of an eye. She’s tiny and Junior got all of his dad’s big boned, tall genes, but he’s slow to react and Ana manages to smack him soundly on the head before he can move.

"DON’T HIT ME, ANA!"

"DON’T BE SUCH A JERK, JUNIOR!"

" _YOU’RE_ A JERK!"

"SHUT _UUUUUUP_!" Both of Santana’s parents say it in chorus from the kitchen. The kids go silent and Ana returns to the recliner and sheepishly picks up her DS again.

" _Anyway_.” Rachel widens her eyes at Santana before looking back at the kids. “As I was saying. My dads used to say I was just like Rudolph, because no one liked me when I was growing up.”

“That’s sad,” Junior frowns, rubbing the spot on his head where Ana hit him.

“It was,” Rachel nods, shifting awkwardly, “but things are…” she looks over at Santana, thinking about how things are so different from high school. All of those things that made her a misfit back then has led her to this moment in Santana’s family room. Santana just gives her this openly curious look and there’s that little voice in Rachel’s head reminding her everything happening here is _not real_ . But God, it _feels_ real. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking. She looks back at Junior, who is watching her expectantly. “Things are really good now. So... I’m gonna have to say my _new_ favourite is _Elf_. It’s just such a happy, feel good Christmas movie. I really get Buddy’s enthusiasm for...everything.”

"That’s my favourite, too,” Santana says, giving Rachel this soft look that makes her insides somersault. Rachel smiles, bumping Santana gently with her shoulder.

“Do we even own _Elf?_ ” Ana asks.

“Umm, yeah,” Junior replies, scooting around his open drawer and pulling open another. He takes the DVD case out of the drawer and looks at it with his face all scrunched up. “I don’t think we’ve watched it in ages, though.”

“Why don’t you pick out some other options?” Rachel asks, and Junior just nods, turning back to the drawer.

“So…” Santana says, once silence has settled back over the room. “If you’re Rudolph...Does that make me Clarice?”

“Only if you think I’m cute,” Rachel says, a little too quickly, and Santana laughs. Rachel tries not to look too surprised when Santana takes her hand, tangling their fingers together like it’s the most natural thing.

"Gross." Junior looks at their hands and makes a face before returning to what Rachel assumes must be the game drawer.

* * *

"So, Rachel,” Mr. Lopez says, halfway through dinner. “What movie do you want to watch tonight? I assume Junior gave you a rundown of our collection."

Rachel has a taco halfway to her mouth as Mr. Lopez asks her this. It’s her third, and she could eat maybe ten more. The Lopezes must have cleaned out the mushroom supply at Publix because there’s about four pounds of mushroom sitting in front of her on skillet, mixed with green peppers, onions, and garlic. She puts the taco down, regretfully, and clears her throat.

"Umm. Well. Like I was telling Junior earlier. I like _Elf_ a lot.”

“ _Elf_. Hm.” Mrs. Lopez taps her lips. “Normally we go for something traditional, like the claymation ones with all the talking animals.” Santana’s mother waves her hand, “but you are the guest…” She looks across the table at Mr. Lopez, brows raised.

"I think _Elf_ is a great idea. I don’t think we’ve watched that as a family since Ana was little.” He grins and Ana just shrugs, but there’s a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Santana glances over at Rachel, her eyes bright with something Rachel recognises as affection, and then she feels Santana squeeze her thigh just gently.

* * *

She excuses herself after dinner to clean up before game time. Santana looks at her skeptically, but Rachel waves her off and disappears down the hallway to the bathroom Mrs. Lopez points out for her.

In the bathroom she lets the water run for a moment before sticking her hands under the spray. The water is frigid, but it helps Rachel focus a little better.

If this were with anyone else, Rachel would have no problem acting like the world’s greatest girlfriend. She was a beard for two months when her friend Connor wasn’t sure if he wanted to be out at NYADA. She was a _great_ beard — Connor was a shitty boyfriend. But this… it’s too close to _exactly_ what she wants. And it makes her feel a little sick.

She can hear commotion from the living room, the sounds of Santana’s siblings arguing about something that Rachel can’t make out. There’s laughter that Rachel easily places as Santana’s and her father’s. She can picture everything so easily, even though she’s only known most of these people for a few hours, but it just _works_ , and she wants to be part of it, _with Santana_.

She cuts the tap and warms her fingers in a hand towel, reminding herself it’s just for tonight, it’s just for a few more hours, and then things will be normal again.

The only problem is, Rachel doesn’t know if she can just go back, knowing how good and right it feels to _be_ Santana’s girlfriend.

* * *

They pick Apples to Apples out of the game drawer. It works well with watching a movie because Ana is still slow at the game and Rachel likes to think long and hard about each of her choices. Rachel beats Junior by one hand, killing the ‘Touchy-Feely’ card with ‘Helen Keller’ and making Ana — the judge — laugh until she cries.

"It’s a good win,” Mrs. Lopez says, waving away Junior’s defeated pout. “She never laughs that hard." Mrs. Lopez winks at Rachel as she scoops up the cards. Mr. Lopez is fishing around in the game drawer and Rachel is starting to think it’s a male Lopez trait.

"Here you go." He pulls something out and walks over to Rachel. It’s this floppy silver garland tied into a circle with a gold star glued to it.

"It’s the winner’s crown. You have to wear it." Ana says this seriously. Her teenage bitchiness disappeared after she won the first hand and she’s spent the rest of the evening treating Rachel like just another member of the family. Now she’s staring Rachel down with pursed lips, like her mother, like her sister, and it’s so unnerving that Rachel feels a little flush with embarrassment.

"Sure! I love gold stars." Rachel rises to her knees and Mr. Lopez bends down, putting the garland on top of Rachel’s head and adjusting it so the star sits in the middle of her forehead.

"Perfect! Now! A picture!” Mrs. Lopez cries, hopping up off of the floor.

* * *

"Your mother is ridiculous. She took like, thirty pictures of me."

"Like you’re one to talk? You’re using one of them for your profile picture."

"I’m proud of my win, okay?" They’re _leisurely_ walking to Rachel’s car, which is just parked across the street from Santana’s house. It’s past 11 and snowing gently, the air smells like firewood smoke and clean snow and Santana has one of her hands stuffed into the pocket of Rachel’s peacoat ‘because it’s so fucking cold okay’. "Please tell me that’s actually a family tradition and not some cruel joke."

"It is, it is." Santana laughs, snow sticking to her eyelashes. "My mom has a whole folder on her computer dedicated to it. Yours is probably being added right now." Santana bumps her gently and Rachel smiles.

“Are you sure they’re not spying on us?” Rachel asks, looking over her shoulder at Santana’s house. It’s still brightly illuminated with Christmas lights, a cherubic Santa face grinning from the living room window.

“Probably not. I _am_ twenty.” They come to a stop at Rachel’s car, far too soon for Rachel’s liking. Santana takes her hand out of Rachel’s pocket as Rachel shifts her purse off of her hip and opens it. She tries to calm the stampeding of her heart, but all she can think about is how _it’s over_ and—

 _God._ She can’t do this thing with Santana anymore, if this is just how it’s going to be. Fake, something that happens and then is never talked about again.

"So…" Santana awkwardly kicks at the snow piled up next to one of the car’s tires. Some of it flies onto Rachel’s boots and Rachel looks up from her purse.

"Hey, these are new!"

"And fake leather. You’re fine."

Rachel harrumphs, produces her keys from her purse, and turns to her car. Santana sighs and grabs Rachel’s shoulders, spinning her around with such force she almost knocks them both off balance.

"What?" Rachel is a little more than annoyed and is holding her key out, kind of like a weapon. "C’mon Santana. It’s not gonna stop snowing and I want to get home, where it’s warm and smells like the cookies my dads were still making when I left."

"I just wanted to thank you.” She grimaces and Rachel frowns. “For, you know, coming over tonight. I know it’s Chanukah—”

"That was over before Christmas. You’re thinking of last year when it went on to New Year’s.”

"Oh.” Santana licks her lips and rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It’s the _holidays_. You didn’t have to come over."

"Well, Santana, contrary to what you may tell yourself at night after you go back to your room after we...” Rachel blushes, demurring. “I _really_ … God, Santana, you know how I feel about you. I would do anything for...” Santana inhales sharply and Rachel clenches her jaw. She’s not angry, not really, just frustrated and hurt and embarrassed to have let so much truth slip out all at once. The feeling passes quickly, like it usually does, and she jingles her keys a little as if to disrupt the tension, trying a tight smile that feels completely fake. "Besides, it’s only the day before New Year’s Eve.” Rachel pauses and takes a breath. “About that—”

“What?”

“Tomorrow. My dads always throw this huge New Year’s Eve party and...I never invite anyone over because…Well.” She purses her lips and Santana looks away. “Would you like to come?”

“To your party?”

“Mmhm.”

“I’ll…” Santana runs her tongue against her teeth and rocks onto her heels. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”

“Let me know,” Rachel rolls her eyes and Santana just nods.

Before Rachel has a chance to turn back to her car, Santana pulls her close by the lapels of her coat and kisses her. It’s a toe-curling, knee-jellying kind of kiss, the kind Santana is just so damn good at. Santana slips her tongue into Rachel’s mouth and Rachel leans into her like a bad habit, only for a moment, before breaking the kiss with a sigh.

“Santana...”

"Right," Santana breathes out, letting go of Rachel’s jacket slowly. “I’ll um. Tomorrow. I’ll call you.” She sounds almost shy, and Rachel’s heart gives a little leap in her chest.

“Yeah,” Rachel bites her lip, leaning back into the door of her car as Santana backs away. They trade gentle smiles before Santana turns around and heads back inside her house.

Rachel isn’t stupid, but damn if tomorrow doesn’t suddenly sound like an _entirely_ different thing.

* * *

A text comes at four in the morning, four whole hours before Rachel’s alarm is set to go off. She’s deep asleep but Santana’s ringtone filters into her subconscious and she reaches blearily for her phone, only half awake as she hits ‘answer’.

“So should I bring anything tomorrow?” Santana asks without prelude. Rachel blinks, still groggy with sleep.

“Um. Tomorrow? Oh, the party.” She scrubs her face with hand and stretches. “No, nothing. Just yourself.” Rachel pauses, bites her bottom lip. “I’m glad your schedule is clear, then.”

“Don’t get sentimental,” Santana scoffs. “I just don’t have anything better to do.”

“Alright,” Rachel yawns, “party’s at seven but you’ll want to get here early for parking. It gets packed.”

“Deal,” Santana says flatly, and then, “I’ll see you then.”

It’s simple, easy, hanging up the phone, tossing it somewhere onto the pillow next to her. Maybe Santana’s just humouring her, maybe she sees it as keeping the score even — Rachel doesn’t really care, she’s just quietly pleased that she’s finally going to have a guest of her own at the party.

She’ll have something to look forward to as the ball drops.

She’s definitely _not_ thinking about that as she drifts back to sleep.

But then her phone vibrates and she swears loudly before groping around her bed for the phone.

Santana [4:23:31] i can’t sleep

Rachel [4:24:01] Me too, because you keep waking me up!

Santana [4:24:30] sry

Santana [4:24:59] i was thinking

Santana [4:25:20] maybe we should make it exclusive

Rachel doesn’t quite get what ‘it’ is. She’s still in that drowsy sleep twilight place and it’s _Santana_ and she thinks about all those conversations that would’ve gone so much easier if Santana was just better at communication.

Make _what_ exclusive? She’s about to text just that when the realisation sinks in.

Oh. _Oh_.

Rachel [4:27:17] You know Santana, I would like that very much.

She’s pretty sure it’s not the sort of reaction Santana was going for, but it’s too late and she’s too tired to work out a more emotion-filled response. Her heart still clenches and she can feel the dumb smile spreading her face, but it’ll have to be enough, for now.

She switches her phone to silent and goes back to sleep. She figures, if it’s just a dream, it won’t be more than the fuzzy smudge of a memory in the morning, and if it isn’t, well, there’s plenty of time for them to talk about it. _Tomorrow_.


End file.
